Pfl  60  7  3. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIFT  OF 


Mrs«  Edwin  Grabhom 


A 


LOVE  POEMS  AND  OTHERS 


BY  D.  H.  LAWRENCE 

SONS  AND  LOVERS 

THE  TRESPASSER 

THE  WHITE  PEACOCK 

THE   WIDOWING  OF   MRS.    HOLROYD 


LOVE  POEMS 

AND  OTHERS 


BY 

D.  H.  LAWRENCE 


NEW  YORK 

MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 

1915 


CONTENTS 

DVE  POEMS:  — 

PAGE 

Wedding  Morn 

7 

Kisses  in  the  Train 

lO 

Cruelty  and  Love 

12 

Cherry  Robbers 

i6 

Lilies  in  the  Fire         ^ 

17 

Coldness  in  Love 

20 

End  of  Another  Home-Holiday 

23 

Reminder 

27 

Bei  Hennef 

30 

Lightning 

32 

Song-Day  in  Autumn 

34 

Aware 

36 

A  Pang  of  Reminiscence 

37 

A  White  Blossom 

38 

Red  Moon-Rise 

39 

Return 

42 

The  Appeal 

43 

CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Repulsed 

44 

Dream-Confused 

47 

COROT 

48 

Morning  Work 

50 

Transformations 

51 

Renascence 

54 

DOG-TIRED 

56 

Michael-Angelo 

58 

DIALECT  POEMS:  — 

Violets 

59 

Whether  or  Not 

61 

A  Collier's  Wife 

74 

The  Drained  Cup 

77 

THE  SCHOOLMASTER:  — 

L    A  Snowy  Day  in  School 

82 

n.    The  Best  of  School 

84 

WEDDING  MORN 

THE  morning  breaks  like  a  pomegranate 
In  a  shining  crack  of  red, 
Ah,  when  to-morrow  the  dawn  comes  late 

Whitening  across  the  bed, 
It  will  find  me  watching  at  the  marriage  gate 

And  waiting  while  light  Is  shed 
On  him  who  Is  sleeping  satiate, 

With  a  sunk,  abandoned  head. 

And  when  the  dawn  comes  creeping  In, 

Cautiously  I  shall  raise 
Myself  to  watch  the  morning  win 

My  first  of  days. 
As  it  shows  him  sleeping  a  sleep  he  got 

Of  me,  as  under  my  gaze. 
He  grows  distinct,  and  I  see  his  hot 

Face  freed  of  the  wavering  blaze. 

[7] 


LOVE    POEMS 

Then  I  shall  know  which  Image  of  God 

My  man  is  made  toward, 
And  I  shall  know  my  bitter  rod 

Or  my  rich  reward. 
And  I  shall  know  the  stamp  and  worth 

Of  the  coin  I've  accepted  as  mine, 
Shall  see  an  Image  of  heaven  or  of  earth 

On  his  minted  metal  shine. 

Yea  and  I  long  to  see  him  sleep 

In  my  power  utterly, 
I  long  to  know  what  I  have  to  keep, 

I  long  to  see 
My  love,  that  spinning  coin,  laid  still 

And  plain  at  the  side  of  me. 
For  me  to  count  —  for  I  know  he  will 

Greatly  enrichen  me. 


[8] 


AND    OTHERS 

And  then  he  will  be  mine,  he  will  lie 

In  my  power  utterly, 
Opening  his  value  plain  to  my  eye 

He  will  sleep  of  me. 
He  will  lie  negligent,  resign 

His  all  to  me,  and  I 
Shall  watch  the  dawn  light  up  for  me 

This   sleeping  wealth  of  mine. 

And  I  shall  watch  the  wan  light  shine 

On  his  sleep  that  is  filled  of  me. 
On  his  brow  where  the  wisps  of  fond  hair  twine 

So  truthfully, 
On  his  lips  where  the  light  breaths  come  and  go 

Naive  and  winsomely. 
On  his  limbs  that  I  shall  weep  to  know 

Lie  under  my  mastery. 


[9] 


LOVE    POEMS 


KISSES  IN  THE  TRAIN 

I  saw  the  midlands 

Revolve  through  her  hair; 
The  fields  of  autumn 

Stretching  bare, 
And  sheep  on  the  pasture 

Tossed  back  In  a  scare. 

And  still  as  ever 

The  world  went  round, 
My  mouth  on  her  pulsing 

Neck  was  found. 
And  my  breast  to  her  beating 

Breast  was  bound. 

But  my  heart  at  the  centre 

Of  all,  In  a  swound 
Was  still  as  a  pivot, 

As  all  the  ground 
On  Its  prowling  orbit 

Shifted  round. 

[lO] 


AND    OTHERS 

And  still  in  my  nostrils 

The  scent  of  her  flesh, 
And  still  my  wet  mouth 

Sought  her  afresh; 
And  still  one  pulse 

Through  the  world  did  thresh. 

And  the  world  all  whirling 

Around  in  joy 
Like  the  dance  of  a  dervish 

Did  destroy 
My  sense  —  and  my  reason 

Spun  like  a  toy. 

But  firm  at  the  centre 

My  heart  was  found; 
Her  own  to  my  perfect 

Heart-beat  bound, 
Like  a  magnet's  keeper 

Closing  the  round. 


[II] 


LOVE    POEMS 


CRUELTY  AND  LOVE 

What  large,  dark  hands  are  those  at  the  window 
Lifted,  grasping  the  golden  light 
Which  weaves  its  way  through  the  creeper  leaves 
To  my  heart's  delight? 

Ah,  only  the  leaves!     But  in  the  west, 
In  the  west  I  see  a  redness  come 
Over  the  evening's  burning  breast  — 

— 'Tis  the  wound  of  love  goes  home ! 

The  woodbine  creeps  abroad 
Calling  low  to  her  lover : 

The  sun-lit  flirt  who  all  the  day 
Has  poised  above  her  lips  in  play 
And  stolen  kisses,  shallow  and  gay 
Of  pollen,  now  has  gone  away 
—  She  woos  the  moth  with  her  sweet,  low  word. 
And  when  above  her  his  broad  wings  hover 
Then  her  bright  breast  she  will  uncover 
And  yield  her  honey-drop  to  her  lover. 

[12] 


AND    OTHERS 

Into  the  yellow,  evening  glow 
Saunters  a  man  from  the  farm  below, 
Leans,  and  looks  In  at  the  low-built  shed 
Where  hangs  the  swallow's  marriage  bed. 
The  bird  lies  warm  against  the  wall. 
She  glances  quick  her  startled  eyes 
Towards  him,  then  she  turns  away 
Her  small  head,  making  warm  display 
Of  red  upon  the  throat.     His  terrors  sway 
Her  out  of  the  nest's  warm,  busy  ball, 
Whose  plaintive  cry  Is  heard  as  she  flies 
In  one  blue  stoop  from  out  the  sties 
Into  the  evening's  empty  hall. 

Oh,  water-hen,  beside  the  rushes 

Hide  your  quaint,  unfading  blushes. 

Still  your  quick  tail,  and  lie  as  dead. 

Till  the  distance  folds  over  his  ominous  tread. 

The  rabbit  presses  back  her  ears. 
Turns  back  her  liquid,  anguished  eyes 
And  crouches  low:  then  with  wild  spring 
Spurts  from  the  terror  of  his  oncoming 
To  be  choked  back,  the  wire  ring 

[13] 


LOVE    POEMS 

Her  frantic  effort  throttling: 

Piteous  brown  ball  of  quivering  fears ! 

Ah  soon  In  his  large,  hard  hands  she  dies, 

And  swings  all  loose  to  the  swing  of  his  walk. 

Yet  calm  and  kindly  are  his  eyes 

And  ready  to  open  in  brown  surprise 

Should  I  not  answer  to  his  talk 

Or  should  he  my  tears  surmise. 

I  hear  his  hand  on  the  latch,  and  rise  from  my  chair 

Watching  the  door  open :  he  flashes  bare 

His  strong  teeth  In  a  smile,  and  flashes  his  eyes 

In  a  smile  like  triumph  upon  me;  then  careless-wise 

He  flings  the  rabbit  soft  on  the  table  board 

And  comes  towards  me :  ah,  the  uplifted  sword 

Of  his  hand  against  my  bosom,  and  oh,  the  broad 

Blade  of  his  hand  that  raises  my  face  to  applaud 

His  coming:  he  raises  up  my  face  to  him 

And  caresses  my  mouth  with  his  fingers,  which  still 

smell  grim 
Of  the  rabbit's  fur!     God,  I  am  caught  in  a  snare! 
I  know  not  what  fine  wire  is  round  my  throat, 
I  only  know  I  let  him  finger  there 

[14] 


AND    OTHERS 

My  pulse  of  life,  letting  him  nose  like  a  stoat 
Who  sniffs  with  joy  before  he  drinks  the  blood: 
And  down  his  mouth  comes  to  my  mouth,  and  down 
His  dark  bright  eyes  descend  like  a  fiery  hood 
Upon  my  mind:  hl&  mouth  meets  mine,  and  a  flood 
Of  sweet  fire  sweeps  across  me,  so  I  drown 
Within  him,  die,  and  find  death  good. 


[15] 


LOVE    POEMS 


CHERRY  ROBBERS 

Under  the  long,  dark  boughs,  like  jewels  red 

In  the  hair  of  an  Eastern  girl 
Shine  strings  of  crimson  cherries,   as  if  had  bled 

Blood-drops  beneath  each  curl. 

Under  the  glistening  cherries,  with  folded  wings 

Three  dead  birds  lie : 
Pale-breasted  throstles  and  a  blackbird,  robberlings 

Stained  with  red  dye. 

Under  the  haystack  a  girl  stands  laughing  at  me, 
With  cherries  hung  round  her  ears  — 

Offering  me  her  scarlet  fruit:  I  will  see 
If  she  has  any  tears. 


[i6] 


AND    OTHERS 


LILIES  IN  THE  FIRE 


Ah,  you  stack  of  white  lilies,  all  white  and  gold, 
I  am  adrift  as  a  sunbeam,  and  without  form 
Or  having,  save  I  light  on  you  to  warm 
Your  pallor  into  radiance,  flush  your  cold 

White  beauty  into  incandescence :  you 
Are  not  a  stack  of  white  lilies  to-night,  but  a  white 
And  clustered  star  transfigured  by  me  to-night. 
And  lighting  these  ruddy  leaves  like  a  star  dropped 
through  i 

The  slender  bare  arms  of  the  branches,  your  tire- 
maidens 
Who  lift  swart  arms  to  fend  me  off;  but  I  come 
Like  a  wind  of  fire  upon  you,  like  to  some 
Stray  whitebeam  who  on  you  his  fire  unladens. 

[17] 


LOVE    POEMS 

And  you  are  a  glistening  toadstool  shining  here 
Among  the  crumpled  beech-leaves  phosphorescent, 
My  stack  of  white  lilies  burning  incandescent 
Of  me,  a  soft  white  star  among  the  leaves,  my  dear. 


II 

Is  it  with  pain,  my  dear,  that  you  shudder  so? 
Is  it  because  I  have  hurt  you  with  pain,  my  dear? 

Did  I  shiver?  —  Nay,  truly  I  did  not  know  — 
A  dewdrop  may-be  splashed  on  my  face  down 
here. 
Why  even  now  you  speak  through  close-shut  teeth. 
I  have  been  too  much  for  you  —  Ah,  I  remember ! 
The  ground  is  a  little  chilly  underneath 
The  leaves  —  and,  dear,  you  consume  me  all  to 
an  ember. 

You  hold  yourself  all  hard  as  if  my  kisses 
Hurt  as  I  gave  them  —  you  put  me  away  — 

Ah!  never  I  put  you  away:  yet  each  kiss  hisses 
Hot  as  a  drop  of  fire  wastes  me  away. 
[i8] 


AND    OTHERS 


III 


I  am  ashamed,  you  wanted  me  not  to-night  — 

Nay,  it  is  always  so,  you  sigh  with  me. 

Your  radiance  dims  when  I  draw  too  near,  and  my 

free 
Fire  enters  your  petals  like  death,  you  wilt  dead 

white. 

Ah,  I  do  know,  and  I  am  deep  ashamed; 

You  love  me  while  I  hover  tenderly 

Like  clinging  sunbeams  kissing  you :  but  see 

When  I  close  in  fire  upon  you,  and  you  are  flamed 

With  the  swiftest  fire  of  my  love,  you  are  destroyed. 
'Tis  a  degradation  deep  to  me,  that  my  best 
SouPs  whitest  lightning  which  should  bright  attest 
God  stepping  down  to  earth  in  one  white  stride, 

Means  only  to  you  a  clogged,  numb  burden  of  flesh 
Heavy  to  bear,  even  heavy  to  uprear 
Again  from  earth,  like  lilies  wilted  and  sere 
Flagged  on  the  floor,  that  before  stood  up  so  fresh. 

[19] 


LOVE    POEMS 


COLDNESS  IN  LOVE 

And  you  remember,  In  the  afternoon 

The  sea  and  the  sky  went  grey,  as  If  there  had  sunk 

A  flocculent  dust  on  the  floor  of  the  world:  the 

festoon 
Of  the  sky  sagged  dusty  as  spider  cloth. 
And  coldness  clogged  the  sea,  till  It  ceased  to  croon. 

A  dank,  sickening  scent  came  up  from  the  grime 
Of  weed  that  blackened  the  shore,  so  that  I  recoiled 
Feeling  the  raw  cold  dun  me :  and  all  the  time 
You  leapt  about  on  the  slippery  rocks,  and  threw 
The  words  that  rang  with  a  brassy,  shallow  chime. 

And  all  day  long  that  raw  and  ancient  cold 
Deadened  me  through,  till  the  grey  downs  darkened 

to  sleep. 
Then  I  longed  for  you  with  your  mantle  of  love  to 

fold 
Me  over,  and  drive  from  out  of  my  body  the  deep 
Cold  that  had  sunk  to  my  soul,  and  there  kept  hold. 

[20] 


AND    OTHERS 

But  still  to  me  all  evening  long  you  were  cold, 
And  I  was  numb  with  a  bitter,  deathly  ache; 
Till  old  days  drew  me  back  into  their  fold, 
And  dim  sheep  crowded  me  warm  with  companion- 
ship. 
And  old  ghosts  clustered  me  close,  and  sleep  was 
cajoled. 


I  slept  till  dawn  at  the  window  blew  in  like  dust. 
Like  the  linty,  raw-cold  dust  disturbed  from  the  floor 
Of  a  disused  room:  a  grey  pale  light  like  must 
That  settled  upon  my  face  and  hands  till  it  seemed 
To  flourish  there,  as  pale  mold  blooms  on  a  crust. 


Then  I  rose  in  fear,  needing  you  fearfully. 

For  I  thought  you  were  warm  as  a  sudden  jet  of 

blood. 
I  thought  I  could  plunge  in  your  spurting  hotness, 

and  be 
Clean  of  the  cold  and  the  must. —  With  my  hand  on 

the  latch 
I  heard  you  in  your  sleep  speak  strangely  to  me. 

[21] 


LOVE    POEMS 

And  I  dared  not  enter,  feeling  suddenly  dismayed. 
So  I  went  and  washed  my  deadened  flesh  In  the  sea 
And  came  back  tingling  clean,  but  worn  and  frayed 
With  cold,  like  the  shell  of  the  moon :  and  strange  it 

seems 
That  my  love  has  dawned  in  rose  again,  like  the  love 

of  a  maid. 


[22] 


AND    OTHERS 

END  OF  ANOTHER  HOME-HOLIDAY 

I 

When  shall  I  see  the  half  moon  sink  again 
Behind  the  black  sycamore  at  the  end  of  the  garden? 
When  will  the  scent  of  the  dim,  white  phlox 
Creep  up  the  wall  to  me,  and  in  at  my  open  window? 

Why  is  it,  the  long  slow  stroke  of  the  midnight  bell, 

(Will  it  never  finish  the  twelve?) 
Falls  again  and  again  on  my  heart  with  a  heavy 
reproach  ? 

The  moon-mist  is  over  the  village,  out  of  the  mist 
speaks  the  bell. 

And  all  the  little  roofs  of  the  village  bow  low,  piti- 
ful, beseeching,  resigned: 
Oh,  little  home,  what  is  it  I  have  not  done  well? 

Ah  home,  suddenly  I  love  you. 
As  I  hear  the  sharp  clean  trot  of  a  pony  down  the 
road, 

[23] 


LOVE    POEMS 

Succeeding  sharp  little  sounds  dropping  Into  the  si- 
lence, 

Clear  upon  the  long-drawn  hoarseness  of  a  train 
across  the  valley. 

The  light  has  gone  out  from  under  my  mother's 
door. 
That  she  should  love  me  so, 
She,  so  lonely,  greying  now, 
And  I  leaving  her, 
Bent  on  my  pursuits ! 

Love  is  the  great  Asker, 

The  sun  and  the  rain  do  not  ask  the  secret 

Of  the  time  when  the  grain  struggles  down  in  the 

dark. 
The  moon  walks  her  lonely  way  without  anguish. 
Because  no  loved  one  grieves  over  her  departure. 

II 

Forever,   ever  by  my   shoulder   pitiful   Love   will 

linger, 
Crouching  as  little   houses  crouch  under  the  mist 

when  I  turn. 

[24] 


AND    OTHERS 

Forever,  out  of  the  mist  the  church  lifts  up  her  re- 
proachful finger, 

Pointing  my  eyes  in  wretched  defiance  where  love 
hides  her  face  to  mourn. 

Oh  but  the  rain  creeps  down  to  wet  the  grain 

That  struggles  alone  in  the  dark. 
And  asking  nothing,  cheerfully  steals  back  again! 

The  moon  sets  forth  o'  nights 

To  walk  the  lonely,  dusky  heights 

Serenely,  with  steps  unswerving; 

Pursued  by  no  sigh  of  bereavement. 

No  tears  of  love  unnerving 

Her  constant  tread: 

While  ever  at  my  side. 

Frail  and  sad,  with  grey  bowed  head. 

The  beggar-woman,  the  yearning-eyed 

Inexorable  love  goes  lagging. 

The  wild  young  heifer,  glancing  distraught, 
With  a  strange  new  knocking  of  life  at  her  side 

Runs  seeking  a  loneliness. 
The  little  grain  draws  down  the  earth  to  hide. 

[25] 


LOVE    POEMS 

Nay,  even  the  slumberous  egg,  as  it  labours  under  the 
shell, 
Patiently  to  divide,  and  self-divide, 
Asks  to  be  hidden,  and  wishes  nothing  to  tell. 

But  when  I  draw  the  scanty  cloak  of  silence  over  my 

eyes. 
Piteous  Love  comes  peering  under  the  hood. 
Touches  the  clasp  with  trembling  fingers,  and  tries 
To  put  her  ear  to  the  painful  sob  of  my  blood. 
While  her  tears  soak  through  to  my  breast. 
Where  they  burn  and  cauterise. 

Ill 

The  moon  lies  back  and  reddens. 
In  the  valley,  a  corncrake  calls 

Monotonously, 
With  a  piteous,  unalterable  plaint,  that  deadens 

My  confident  activity: 
With  a  hoarse,  insistent  request  that  falls 

Unweariedly,  unweariedly, 

Asking  something  more  of  me, 
Yet  more  of  me ! 

[26] 


AND    OTHERS 


REMINDER 

Do  you  remember 
How  night  after  night  swept  level  and  low 
Overhead,  at  home,  and  had  not  one  star, 
Nor  one  narrow  gate  for  the  moon  to  go 
Forth  to  her  field  of  November. 

And  you  remember, 
How  towards  the  north  a  red  blot  on  the  sky 
Burns  like  a  blotch  of  anxiety 
Over  the  forges,  and  small  flames  play 

Like  ghosts  the  shadow  of  the  ember. 

Those  were  the  days 
When  it  was  awful  autumn  to  me. 
When  only  there  glowed  on  the  dark  of  the  sky 
The  red  reflection  of  her  agony, 

My  beloved  smelting  down  in  the  blaze 

Of  death  —  my  dearest 
Love  who  had  borne,  and  was  now  leaving  me. 
And  I  at  the  foot  of  her  cross  did  suffer 

My  own  gethsemane. 

[27] 


LOVE    POEMS 

So  I  came  to  you, 
And  twice,  after  great  kisses,  I  saw 
The  rim  of  the  moon  divinely  rise 
And  strive  to  detach  herself  from  the  raw 

Blackened  edge  of  the  skies. 

Strive  to  escape; 
With  her  whiteness  revealing  my  sunken  world 
Tall  and  loftily  shadowed.     But  the  moon 
Never  magnolia-like  unfurled 

Her  white,  her  lamp-like  shape. 

For  you  told  me  no, 
And  bade  me  not  to  ask  for  the  dour 
Communion,  offering — "  a  better  thing." 
So  I  lay  on  your  breast  for  an  obscure  hour 

Feeling  your  fingers  go 


[28] 


AND    OTHERS 

Like  a  rhythmic  breeze 
Over  my  hair,  and  tracing  my  brows, 
Till  I  knew  you  not  from  a  little  wind: 
—  I  wonder  now  if  God  allows 

Us  only  one  moment  his  keys. 

If  only  then 
You  could  have  unlocked  the  moon  on  the  night. 
And  I  baptized  myself  in  the  light 
Of  your  love;  we  both  have  entered  then  the  white 

Pure  passion,  and  never  again.  » 

I  wonder  if  only 
You  had  taken  me  then,  how  different 
Life  would  have  been:  should  I  have  spent 
Myself  in  waste,  and  you  have  bent 

Your  pride,  through  being  lonely? 


[29] 


LOVE    POEMS 


BEI  HENNEF 

The  little  river  twittering  in  the  twilight, 
The  wan,  wondering  look  of  the  pale  sky. 
This  is  almost  bliss. 

And  everything  shut  up  and  gone  to  sleep. 
All  the  troubles  and  anxieties  and  pain 
Gone  under  the  twilight. 

Only  the  twilight  now,  and  the  soft  "  Sh!  *'  of  the 
river 
That  will  last  for  ever. 

And  at  last  I  know  my  love  for  you  is  here, 
I  can  see  it  all,  it  is  whole  like  the  twilight. 
It  is  large,  so  large,  I  could  not  see  it  before 
Because  of  the  little  lights  and  flickers  and  interrup- 
tions. 
Troubles,  anxieties  and  pains. 

[30] 


AND    OTHERS 

You  are  the  call  and  I  am  the  answer, 
You  are  the  wish,  and  I  the  fulfilment, 
You  are  the  night,  and  I  the  day. 

What  else  —  it  is  perfect  enough. 

It  is  perfectly  complete. 

You  and  I, 

What  more ? 

Strange,  how  we  suffer  in  spite  of  this! 


[31] 


LOVE    POEMS 


LIGHTNING 

I  felt  the  lurch  and  halt  of  her  heart 

Next  my  breast,  where  my  own  heart  was  beating; 
And  I  laughed  to  feel  it  plunge  and  bound, 
And  strange  in  my  blood-swept  ears  was  the  sound 
Of  the  words  I  kept  repeating, 
Repeating  with  tightened  arms,  and  the  hot  blood's 
blindfold  art. 

Her  breath  flew  warm  against  my  neck, 

Warm  as  a  flame  in  the  close  night  air; 
And  the  sense  of  her  clinging  flesh  was  sweet 
Where  her  arms  and  my  neck's  blood-surge  could 
meet. 
Holding  her  thus,  did  I  care 
That  the  black  night  hid  her  from  me,  blotted  out 
every  speck? 

I  leaned  me  forward  to  find  her  lips, 
And  claim  her  utterly  in  a  kiss, 

[32] 


AND    OTHERS 

When  the  lightning  flew  across  her  face, 
And  I  saw  her  for  the  flaring  space 

Of  a  second,  afraid  of  the  clips 
Of  my  arms,  inert  with  dread,  wilted  in  fear  of  my 
kiss. 

A  moment,  like  a  wavering  spark, 
Her  face  lay  there  before  my  breast, 

Pale  love  lost  in  a  snow  of  fear. 

And  guarded  by  a  glittering  tear. 
And  lips  apart  with  dumb  cries; 

A  moment,  and  she  was  taken  again  in  the  merciful 
dark. 

I  heard  the  thunder,  and  felt  the  rain, 
And  my  arms  fell  loose,  and  I  was  dumb. 

Almost  I  hated  her,  she  was  so  good. 

Hated  myself,  and  the  place,  and  my  blood, 
Which  burned  with  rage,  as  I  bade  her  come 

Home,  away  home,  ere  the  lightning  floated  forth 
again. 


[33] 


LOVE    POEMS 


SONG-DAY  IN  AUTUMN 

When  the  autumn  roses 

Are  heavy  with  dew, 
Before  the  mist  discloses 

The  leaf's  brown  hue, 
You  would,  among  the  laughing  hills 

Of  yesterday 
Walk  innocent  in  the  daffodils, 
CoifEng  up  your  auburn  hair 
In  a  puritan  fillet,  a  chaste  white  snare 
To  catch  and  keep  me  with  you  there 

So  far  away. 

When  from  the  autumn  roses 

Trickles  the  dew. 
When  the  blue  mist  uncloses 

And  the  sun  looks  through, 
You  from  those  startled  hills 

Come  away, 
Out  of  the  withering  daffodils ; 

[34] 


AND    OTHERS 

Thoughtful,  and  half  afraid, 
Plaiting  a  heavy,  auburn  braid 
And  coiling  It  round  the  wise  brows  of  a  maid 
Who  was  scared  in  her  play. 

When  in  the  autumn  roses 

Creeps  a  bee, 
And  a  trembling  flower  encloses 

His  ecstasy. 
You  from  your  lonely  walk 

Turn  away. 
And  leaning  to  me  like  a  flower  on  its  stalk. 
Wait  among  the  beeches 
For  your  late  bee  who  beseeches 
To  creep  through  your  loosened  hair  till  he  reaches. 

Your  heart  of  dismay. 


[35] 


LOVE    POEMS 


AWARE 

Slowly  the  moon  Is  rising  out  of  the  ruddy  haze, 
Divesting  herself  of  her  golden  shift,  and  so 
Emerging  white  and  exquisite;  and  I  In  amaze 
See  In  the  sky  before  me,  a  woman  I  did  not  know 
I  loved,  but  there  she  goes  and  her  beauty  hurts  my 

heart ; 
I  follow  her  down  the  night,  begging  her  not  to  de- 
part. 


[36] 


AND    OTHERS 


A  PANG  OF  REMINISCENCE 

High  and  smaller  goes  the  moon,  she  is  small  and 

very  far  from  me, 
Wistful  and  candid,  watching  me  wistfully,  and  I  see 
Trembling  blue  in  her  pallor  a  tear  that  surely  I  have 

seen  before, 
A  tear  which  I  had  hoped  that  even  hell  held  not 

again  in  store. 


[37] 


LOVE    POEMS 


A  WHITE  BLOSSOM 

A  tiny  moon  as  white  and  small  as  a  single  jasmine 

flower 
Leans  all  alone  above  my  window,  on  night's  wintry 

bower, 
Liquid  as  lime-tree  blossom,  soft  as  brilliant  water  or 

rain 
She  shines,  the  one  white  love  of  my  youth,  which 

all  sin  cannot  stain. 


[38] 


AND    OTHERS 


RED  MOON-RISE 

The  train  In  running  across  the  weald  has  fallen  Into 

a  steadier  stroke 
So  even,  It  beats  like  silence,  and  sky  and  earth  In 

one  unbroke 
Embrace  of  darkness  lie  around,  and  crushed  between 

them  all  the  loose 
And  littered  lettering  of  leaves  and  hills  and  houses 

closed,  and  we  can  use 
The  open  book  of  landscape  no  more,  for  the  covers 

of  darkness  have  shut  upon 
Its  written  pages,  and  sky  and  earth  and  all  between 

are  closed  In  one. 

And  we  are  smothered  between  the  darkness,  we  close 
our  eyes  and  say  "  Hush !  "  we  try 

To  escape  In  sleep  the  terror  of  this  Immense  deep 
darkness,  and  we  lie 

Wrapped  up  for  sleep.     And  then,  dear  God,  from 
out  of  the  twofold  darkness,  red 
[39] 


LOVE    POEMS 

As  If  from  the  womb  the  moon  arises,  as  if  the 

twin-walled  darkness  had  bled 
In  one  great  spasm  of  birth  and  given  us  this  new, 

red  moon-rise 
Which  lies  on  the  knees  of  the  darkness  bloody,  and 

makes  us  hide  our  eyes. 

The  train  beats  frantic  In  haste,  and  struggles  away 
From  this  ruddy  terror  of  birth  that  has  slid  down 
From  out  of  the  loins  of  night  to  flame  our  way 
With  fear;  but  God,  I  am  glad,  so  glad  that  I  drown 
My  terror  with  joy  of  confirmation,  for  now 
Lies  God  all  red  before  me,  and  I  am  glad. 
As  the  Magi  were  when  they  saw  the  rosy  brow 
Of  the  Infant  bless  their  constant  folly  which  had 
Brought  them  thither  to  God:  for  now  I  know 
That  the  Womb  is  a  great  red  passion  whence  rises 

all 
The  shapeliness  that  decks  us  here-below: 
Yea  like  the  fire  that  boils  within  this  ball 
Of  earth,  and  quickens  all  herself  with  flowers, 
God  burns  within  the  stiffened  clay  of  us ; 
And  every  flash  of  thought  that  we  and  ours 
Send  up  to  heaven,  and  every  movement,  does 

[40] 


AND    OTHERS 

Fly  like  a  spark  from  this  God-fire  of  passion; 

And  pain  of  birth,  and  joy  of  the  begetting, 

And  sweat  of  labour,  and  the  meanest  fashion 

Of  fretting  or  of  gladness,  but  the  jetting 

Of  a  trail  of  the  great  fire  against  the  sky 

Where  we  can  see  it,  a  jet  from  the  innermost  fire: 

And  even  in  the  watery  shells  that  lie 

Alive  within  the  oozy  under-mire, 

A  grain  of  this  same  fire  I  can  descry. 

And  then  within  the  screaming  birds  that  fly 

Across  the  lightning  when  the  storm  leaps  higher; 

And  then  the  swirling,  flaming  folk  that  try 

To  come  like  fire-flames  at  their  fierce  desire, 

They  are  as  earth's  dread,  spurting  flames  that  ply 

Awhile  and  gush  forth  death  and  then  expire. 

And  though  it  be  love's  wet  blue  eyes  that  cry 

To  hot  love  to  relinquish  its  desire. 

Still  in  their  depths  I  see  the  same  red  spark 

As  rose  to-night  upon  us  from  the  dark. 


[41] 


LOVE    POEMS 


RETURN 

Now  I  am  come  again,  you  who  have  so  desired 
My  coming,  why  do  you  look  away  from  me? 
Why  does  your  cheek  burn  against  me  —  have  I 

inspired 
Such  anger  as  sets  your  mouth  unwontedly? 

Ah,  here  I  sit  while  you  break  the  music  beneath 
Your  bow ;  for  broken  it  is,  and  hurting  to  hear : 
Cease  then  from  music  —  does  anguish  of  absence 

bequeath 
Me  only  aloofness  when  I  would  draw  near? 


[42] 


AND    OTHERS 


THE  APPEAL 

You,  Helen,  who  see  the  stars 

As  mistletoe  berries  burning  in  a  black  tree, 

You  surely,  seeing  I  am  a  bowl  of  kisses, 

Should  put  your  mouth  to  mine  and  drink  of  me. 

Helen,  you  let  my  kisses  steam 
Wasteful   into   the   night's  black  nostrils;   drink 
Me  up  I  pray;  oh  you  who  are  Night's  Bacchante, 
How  can  you  from  my  bowl  of  kisses  shrink ! 


[43] 


LOVE    POEMS 


REPULSED 

The  last,  silk-floating  thought  has  gone  from  the 

dandelion  stem, 
And  the  flesh  of  the  stalk  holds  up  for  nothing  a  blank 

diadem. 

The  night's  flood-winds  have  lifted  my  last  desire 

from  me, 
And  my  hollow  flesh  stands  up  in  the  night  aban- 

donedly. 

As  I  stand  on  this  hill,  with  the  whitening  cave  of  the 

city  beyond, 
Helen,  I  am  despoiled  of  my  pride,  and  my  soul 

turns  fond: 

Overhead  the  nightly  heavens  like  an  open,  immense 

eye. 
Like  a  cat's  distended  pupil  sparkles  with  sudden 

stars, 

[44] 


AND    OTHERS 

As  with  thoughts  that  flash  and  crackle  in  uncouth 

malignancy 
They  glitter  at  me,  and  I  fear  the  fierce  snapping  of 

night's  thought-stars. 

Beyond  me,  up  the  darkness,  goes  the  gush  of  the 

lights  of  two  towns, 
As  the  breath  which  rushes  upwards  from  the  nostrils 

of  an  immense 
Life  crouched  across  the  globe,  ready,  if  need  be,  to 

pounce 
Across  the  space  upon  heaven's  high  hostile  eminence. 

All  round  me,  but  far  away,  the  night's  twin  con- 
sciousness roars 

With  sounds  that  endlessly  swell  and  sink  like  the 
storm  of  thought  in  the  brain. 

Lifting  and  falling  like  slow  breaths  taken,  pulsing 
like  oars 

Immense  that  beat  the  blood  of  the  night  down  its 
vein. 

The  night  is  immense  and  awful,  Helen,  and  I  am 
insect  small 

[45] 


LOVE    POEMS 

In  the  fur  of  this  hill,  clung  on  to  the  fur  of  shaggy, 

black  heather. 
A  palpitant  speck  in  the  fur  of  the  night,  and  afraid 

of  all, 
Seeing  the  world  and  the  sky  like  creatures  hostile 

together. 

And  I  in  the  fur  of  the  world,  and  you  a  pale  fleck 

from  the  sky, 
How  we  hate  each  other  to-night,  hate,  you  and  I, 
As  the  world  of  activity  hates  the  dream  that  goes  on 

on  high, 
As  a  man  hates  the  dreaming  woman  he  loves,  but 

who  will  not  reply. 


[46] 


AND    OTHERS 


DREAM-CONFUSED 

Is  that  the  moon 
At  the  window  so  big  and  red? 
No  one  In  the  room, 
No  one  near  the  bed ? 

Listen,  her  shoon 
Palpitating  down  the  stair? 
—  Or  a  beat  of  wings  at  the  window  there  ? 

A  moment  ago 
She  kissed  me  warm  on  the  mouth, 
The  very  moon  In  the  south 
Is  warm  with  a  bloody  glow. 
The  moon  from  far  abysses 
Signalling  those  two  kisses. 

And  now  the  moon 
Goes  slowly  out  of  the  west. 
And  slowly  back  In  my  breast 
My  kisses  are  sinking,  soon 

To  leave  me  at  rest. 
[  47  ] 


LOVE    POEMS 


COROT 

The  trees  rise  tall  and  taller,  lifted 
On  a  subtle  rush  of  cool  grey  flame 
That  issuing  out  of  the  dawn  has  sifted 
The  spirit  from  each  leaf's  frame. 

For  the  trailing,  leisurely  rapture  of  life 
Drifts  dimly  forward,  easily  hidden 
By  bright  leaves  uttered  aloud,  and  strife 
Of  shapes  in  the  grey  mist  chidden. 

The  grey,  phosphorescent,  pellucid  advance 
Of  the  luminous  purpose  of  God,  shines  out 
Where  the  lofty  trees  athwart  stream  chance 
To  shake  flakes  of  its  shadow  about. 

The  subtle,  steady  rush  of  the  whole 
Grey  foam-mist  of  advancing  God, 
As  He  silently  sweeps  to  His  somewhere,  his  goal. 
Is  heard  in  the  grass  of  the  sod. 

[48] 


AND    OTHERS 

Is  heard  in  the  windless  whisper  of  leaves 
In  the  silent  labours  of  men  in  the  fields, 
In  the  downward  dropping  of  flimsy  sheaves 
Of  cloud  the  rain  skies  yield. 

In  the  tapping  haste  of  a  fallen  leaf, 
In  the  flapping  of  red-roof  smoke,  and  the  small 
Foot-stepping  tap  of  men  beneath 
These  trees  so  huge  and  tall. 

For  what  can  all  sharp-rimmed  substance  but  catch 
In  a  backward  ripple,  God's  purpose,  reveal 
For  a  moment  His  mighty  direction,  snatch 
A  spark  beneath  His  wheel. 

Since  God  sweeps  onward  dim  and  vast, 
Creating  the  channelled  vein  of  Man 
And  Leaf  for  His  passage.  His  shadow  Is  cast 
On  all  for  us  to  scan. 

Ah  listen,  for  Silence  Is  not  lonely: 
Imitate  the  magnificent  trees 
That  speak  no  word  of  their  rapture,  but  only 
Breathe  largely  the  luminous  breeze. 

[49] 


LOVE    POEMS 


MORNING  WORK 

A  gang  of  labourers  on  the  piled  wet  timber 
That  shines  blood-red  beside  the  railway  siding 
Seem  to  be  making  out  of  the  blue  of  the  morning 
Something  faery  and  fine,  the  shuttles  sliding, 

The  red-gold  spools  of  their  hands  and  faces  shut- 
tling 

Hither  and  thither  across  the  morn's  crystalline 
frame 

Of  blue :  trolls  at  the  cave  of  ringing  cerulean  mining. 

And  laughing  with  work,  living  their  work  like  a 
game. 


[so] 


AND    OTHERS 


TRANSFORMATIONS 

I 

The  Town 

Oh  you  stiff  shapes,  swift  transformation  seethes 
About  you :  only  last  night  you  were 
A  Sodom  smouldering  in  the  dense,  soiled  air; 
To-day  a  thicket  of  sunshine  with  blue  smoke-wreaths. 

To-morrow  swimming  in  evening's  vague,  dim  va- 
pour 
Like  a  weeded  city  in  shadow  under  the  sea, 
Beneath  an  ocean  of  shimmering  light  you  will  be: 
Then  a  group  of  toadstools  waiting  the  moon's  white 
taper. 

And  when  I  awake  in  the  morning,  after  rain, 
To  find  the  new  houses  a  cluster  of  lilies  glittering 
In  scarlet,  alive  with  birds'  bright  twittering, 
I'll  say  your  bond  of  ugliness  is  vain. 

[51] 


LOVE    POEMS 

II 

The  Earth 

Oh  Earth,  you  spinning  clod  of  earth, 

And  then  you  lamp,  you  lemon-coloured  beauty; 

Oh  Earth,  you  rotten  apple  rolling  downward. 

Then  brilliant  Earth,  from  the  burr  of  night  In  beauty 

As  a  jewel-brown  horse-chestnut  newly  Issued:  — 

You  are  all  these,  and  strange.  It  is  my  duty 

To  take  you  all,  sordid  or  radiant  tissued. 

Ill 

Men 

Oh  labourers,  oh  shuttles  across  the  blue  frame  of 

morning, 
You  feet  of  the  rainbow  balancing  the  sky ! 
Oh  you  who  flash  your  arms  like  rockets  to  heaven, 
Who  In  lassitude  lean  as  yachts  on  the  sea-wind  lie ! 
You  who  in  crowds  are  rhododendrons  in  blossom, 
Who  stand  alone  in  pride  like  lighted  lamps; 
Who  grappling  down  with  work  or  hate  or  passion, 

[52] 


AND    OTHERS 

Take  strange  lithe  form  of  a  beast  that  sweats  and 

ramps : 
You  who  are  twisted  In  grief  like  crumpled  beech- 
leaves, 
Who  curl  in  sleep  like  kittens,  who  kiss  as  a  swarm 
Of  clustered,  vibrating  bees;  who  fall  to  earth 
At  last  like  a  bean-pod:  what  are  you,  oh  multiform? 


[S3] 


LOVE    POEMS 


RENASCENCE 

We  have  bit  no  forbidden  apple, 

Eve  and  I, 
Yet  the  splashes  of  day  and  night 
Falling  round  us  no  longer  dapple 
The  same  Eden  with  purple  and  white. 

This  is  our  own  still  valley 

Our  Eden,  our  home. 
But  day  shows  it  vivid  with  feeling 
And  the  pallor  of  night  does  not  tally 
With  dark  sleep  that  once  covered  its  ceiling. 

My  little  red  heifer,  to-night  I  looked  in  her  eyes, 

—  She  will  calve  to-morrow : 
Last  night  when  I  went  with  the  lantern,  the  sow  was 

grabbing  her  htter 
With  red,  snarling  jaws:  and  I  heard  the  cries 
Of  the  new-born,  and  after  that,  the  old  owl,  then 
the  bats  that  flitter. 
[54] 


AND    OTHERS 

And  I  woke  to  the  sound  of  the  wood-pigeons,  and 

lay  and  listened, 
Till  I  could  borrow 
A  few  quick  beats  of  a  wood-pigeon*s  heart,  and 

when  I  did  rise 
The  morning  sun  on  the  shaken  Iris  glistened. 
And  I  saw  that  home,  this  valley,  was  wider  than 

Paradise. 

I  learned  It  all  from  my  Eve 

This  warm,  dumb  wisdom. 
She's  a  finer  instructress  than  years; 
She  has  taught  my  heart-strings  to  weave 
Through  the  web  of  all  laughter  and  tears. 

And  now  I  see  the  valley 

Fleshed  all  like  me 
With  feelings  that  change  and  quiver: 
And  all  things  seem  to  tally 

With  something  in  me, 
Something  of  which  she's  the  giver. 


[55] 


LOVE    POEMS 


DOG-TIRED 

If  she  would  come  to  me  here, 

Now  the  sunken  swaths 

Are  glittering  paths 
To  the  sun,  and  the  swallows  cut  clear 
Into  the  low  sun  —  if  she  came  to  me  here  I 

If  she  would  come  to  me  now, 

Before  the  last  mown  harebells  are  dead. 

While  that  vetch  clump  yet  burns  red; 

Before  all  the  bats  have  dropped  from  the  bough 

Into  the  cool  of  night  —  if  she  came  to  me  now ! 

The  horses  are  untackled,   the  chattering  machine 

Is  still  at  last.     If  she  would  come, 

I  would  gather  up  the  warm  hay  from 

The  hill-brow,  and  lie  in  her  lap  till  the  green 

Sky  ceased  to  quiver,  and  lost  its  tired  sheen. 

[56] 


AND    OTHERS 

I  should  like  to  drop 

On  the  hay,  with  my  head  on  her  knee 

And  lie  stone  still,  while  she 

Breathed  quiet  above  me  —  we  could  stop 

Till  the  stars  came  out  to  see. 

I  should  like  to  lie  still 

As  if  I   was   dead  —  but   feeling 

Her  hand  go  stealing 

Over  my  face  and  my  hair  until 

This  ache  was  shed. 


[57] 


LOVE    POEMS 


MICHAEL-ANGELO 

God  shook  thy  roundness  in  His  finger's  cup, 
He  sunk  His  hands  in  firmness  down  thy  sides, 
And  drew  the  circle  of  His  grasp,  O  Man, 
Along  thy  limbs  delighted,  thine.  His  bride's. 

And  so  thou  wert  God-shapen:  His  finger 
Curved  thy  mouth  for  thee,  and  His  strong  shoulder 
Planted  thee  upright:  art  not  proud  to  see 
In  the  curve  of  thine  exquisite  form  the  joy  of  the 
Moulder? 

He  took  a  handful  of  light  and  rolled  a  ball, 
Compressed  it  till  its  beam  grew  wondrous  dark, 
Then  gave  thee  thy  dark  eyes,  O  Man,  that  all 
He  made  had  doorway  to  thee  through  that  spark. 

God,  lonely,  put  down  His  mouth  in  a  kiss  of  crea- 
tion, 

He  kissed  thee,  O  Man,  in  a  passion  of  love,  and  left 

The  vivid  life  of  His  love  in  thy  mouth  and  thy  nos- 
trils ; 

Keep  then  the  kiss  from  the  adultress'  theft. 

[58] 


AND    OTHERS 


VIOLETS 

Sister,  tha  knows  while  we  was  on  the  planks 
Aside  o'  th'  grave,  while  th'  coffin  wor  lyin'  yet 

On  th'  yaller  clay,  an'  th'  white  flowers  top  of  it 
Tryln'  to  keep  off'n  him  a  bit  o'  th'  wet, 

An'  parson  makin'  haste,  an'  a'  the  black 
Huddlln'  close  together  a  cause  o'  th'  rain, 

Did  t'  'appen  ter  notice  a  bit  of  a  lass  away  back 
By  a  head-stun,  sobbin'  an'  sobbin'  again? 

—  How  should  I  be  lookin'  round 

An'  me  standin'  on  the  plank 
Beside  the  open  ground. 

Where  our  Ted  'ud  soon  be  sank? 

Yi,  an'  'Im  that  young. 

Snapped  sudden  out  of  all 
His  wickedness,   among 

Pals  worse  n'r  ony  name  as  you  could  call. 
[59] 


LOVE    POEMS 

Let  be  that;  there's  some  o'  th'  bad  as  we 
Like  better  nor  all  your  good,  an'  'c  was  one. 

—  And  cos  I  liked  him  best,  yi,  bett'r  nor  thee, 
I  canna  bide  to  think  where  he  is  gone. 

Ah  know  tha  liked  'im  bett'r  nor  me.     But  let 

Me  tell  thee  about  this  lass.     When  you  had  gone 

Ah  stopped  behind  on  t'  pad  i'  th'  drippin'  wet 
An'  watched  what  'er  'ad  on. 

Tha  should  ha'  seed  her  slive  up  when  we'd  gone, 
Tha  should  ha'  seed  her  kneel  an'  look  in 

At  th'  sloppy  wet  grave  —  an'  'er  little  neck  shone 
That  white,  an'  'er  shook  that  much,  I'd  like  to 
begin 

Scra'ightin'  my-sen  as  well.     'En  undid  her  black 
Jacket  at  th'  bosom,  an'  took  from  out  of  it 

Over  a  double  'andful  of  violets,  all  in  a  pack 
Ravelled  blue  and  white  —  warm,  for  a  bit 

O'  th'  smell  come  waftin'  to  me.  'Er  put  'er  face 
Right  intil  'em  and  scraighted  out  again, 

Then  after  a  bit  'er  dropped  'em  down  that  place, 

An'  I  come  away,  because  o'  the  teemin'  rain. 

C6o] 


AND    OTHERS 

WHETHER  OR  NOT 

I 

Dunna  thee  tell  me  Its  hls^n,  mother, 
Dunna  thee,  dunna  thee. 

—  Oh  ay !  he'll  be  comin'  to  tell  thee  his-sen 

Wench,  wunna  he? 

Tha  doesna  mean  to  say  to  me,  mother, 
He's  gone  wi  that  — 

—  My  gel,  owt'll  do  for  a  man  i'  the  dark, 

Tha's  got  it  flat. 

But  'er's  old,  mother,  'er's  twenty  year 
Older  nor  him  — 

—  Ay,  an'  yaller  as  a  crowflower,  an'  yet  i'  the  dark 

Er'd  do  for  Tim. 

Tha  niver  believes  it,  mother,  does  ter? 
It's  somebody's  lies. 

—  Ax  him  thy-sen  wench  —  a  widder's  lodger; 

It's  no  surprise. 

[6i] 


LOVE    POEMS 

II 

A  widow  of  forty-five 
With  a  bitter,  swarthy  skin, 
To  ha'  'ticed  a  lad  o'  twenty-five 
An'  'im  to  have  been  took  in! 

A  widow  of  forty-five 
As  has  sludged  like  a  horse  all  her  life. 
Till  'er's  tough  as  whit-leather,  to  slive 
Atween  a  lad  an'  'is  wife  1 

A  widow  at  forty-five, 

A  tough  old  otchel  wi'  long 

Witch  teeth,  an'  'er  black  hawk-eyes  as  I've 

Mistrusted  all  along! 

An'  me  as  'as  kep  my-sen 
Shut  like  a  daisy  bud. 
Clean  an'  new  an'  nice,  so's  when 
He  wed  he'd  ha'e  summat  good! 

An'  'im  as  nice  an'  fresh 

As  any  man  i'  the  force. 

To  ha'e  gone  an'  given  his  white  young  flesh 

To  a  woman  that  coarse! 

[62] 


AND    OTHERS 


III 


YouVe  stout  to  brave  this  snow,  Miss  Stalnwrlght, 
Are  you  makin'  Brlnsley  way? 

—  I'm  off  up  th'  line  to  Underwood 

Wi'  a  dress  as  is  wanted  to-day. 

Oh  are-^you  goin*  to  Underwood? 
'Appen  then  you've  'eered? 

—  What's  that  as  'appen  I've  'eered-on,  Missis, 

Speak  up,  you  nedna  be  feared. 

Why,  your  young  man  an'  Widow  Naylor, 

Her  as  he  lodges  wi'. 
They  say  he's  got  her  wi'  childt;  but  there. 

It's  nothing  to  do  wi'  me. 

Though  if  it's  true  they'll  turn  him  out 

O'  th'  p'lice  force,  without  fail; 
An'  if  it's  not  true,  I'd  back  my  life 

They'll  listen  to  her  tale. 

Well,  I'm  believin'  no  tale,  Missis, 

I'm  seein'  for  my-sen; 
An'  when  I  know  for  sure.  Missis, 

rUtalk  then. 

[63] 


LOVE    POEMS 


IV 


Nay  robin  red-breast,  tha  nedna 
Sit  noddin'  thy  head  at  me ; 

My  breast's  as  red  as  thine,  I  reckon, 
Flayed  red,  if  tha  could  but  see. 

Nay,  you  blessed  pee-whips, 

You  nedna  screet  at  me ! 
Fm  screetin'  my-sen,  but  are-na  goin' 

To  let  iv'rybody  see. 

Tha  art  smock-ravelled,  bunny, 

Larropin'  neck  an'  crop 
r  th'  snow:  but  I's  warrant  thee,  bunny, 

Fm  further  ower  th'  top. 


Now  sithee  theer  at  th'  railroad  crossin' 
Warmin'  his-sen  at  the  stool  o'  fire 
Under  the  tank  as  fills  the  ingines. 
If  there  isn't  any  dearly-beloved  liar! 

My  constable  wi'  'is  buttoned  breast 

As  stout  as  the  truth,  my  sirs !  —  An'  'is  face 

[64] 


AND    OTHERS 

As  bold  as  a  robin!     It's  much  he  cares 
For  this  nice  old  shame  and  disgrace. 

Oh  but  he  drops  his  flag  when  'e  sees  me, 
Yes,  an'  'Is  face  goes  white  ...  oh  yes 
Tha  can  stare  at  me  wi'  thy  fierce  blue  eyes. 
But  tha  doesna  stare  me  out,  I  guess ! 

VI 

Whativer  brings  thee  out  so  far 
In  a'  this  depth  o'  snow? 

—  I'm  takin'  'ome  a  weddin'  dress 

If  tha  maun  know. 

Why,  Is  there  a  weddin'  at  Underwood, 
As  tha  ne'd  trudge  up  here? 

—  It's  Widow  Naylor's  weddin'-dress. 

An'  'er's  wantin  it,  I  hear. 

'Er  doesna  want  no  weddin'-dress  .  .  . 
What  —  but  what  dost  mean? 

—  Doesn't  ter  know  what  I  mean,  Tim?  —  Yi, 

Tha  must'  a'  been  hard  to  wean ! 

[65] 


LOVE    POEMS 

Tha'rt  a  good-un  at  suckln-in  yet,  TImmy; 

But  tell  me,  isn't  it  true 
As  'er'll  be  wantin'  my  weddin'-dress 

In  a  week  or  two? 

Tha's  no  occasions  ter  ha'e  me  on 

Lizzie  —  what's  done  is  done  ! 
—  Done,  I  should  think  so  —  Done !     But  might 

I  ask  when  tha  begun? 

It's  thee  as  'as  done  it  as  much  as  me, 

Lizzie,  I  tell  thee  that. 
— "  Me  gotten  a  childt  to  thy  landlady  — !  " 

Tha's  gotten  thy  answer  pat. 

As  tha  allers  hast  —  but  let  me  tell  thee 
Hasna  ter  sent  me  whoam,  when  I 

Was  a'most  burstin'  mad  o'  my-sen 
An'  walkin'  in  agony; 

After  thy  kisses,  Lizzie,  after 

Tha's  lain  right  up  to  me  Lizzie,  an'  melted 
Into  me,  melted  into  me,  Lizzie, 

Till  I  was  verily  swelted. 
[66] 


AND    OTHERS 

An'  if  my  landlady  seed  me  like  it, 
An  'if  'er  clawkin',  tiger's  eyes 

Went  through  me  just  as  the  light  went  out 
Is  it  any  cause  for  surprise? 

No  cause  for  surprise  at  all,  my  lad, 

After  lickin'  and  snuffin'  at  me,  tha  could 

Turn  thy  mouth  on  a  woman  like  her  — 
Did  ter  find  her  good? 

Ay,  I  did,  but  afterwards 

I  should  like  to  ha'  killed  her ! 

—  Afterwards !  —  an'  after  how  long 

Wor  it  tha'd  liked  to  'a  killed  her? 

Say  no  more,  Liz,  dunna  thee, 
I  might  lose  my-sen. 

—  I'll  only  say  good-bye  to  thee,  Timothy, 

An'  gi'e  her  thee  back  again. 

I'll  ta'e  thy  word  ''  Good-bye,"  Liz, 

But  I  shonna  marry  her, 
I  shonna  for  nobody. —  It  is 

Very  nice,  on  you.  Sir. 

[67] 


LOVE    POEMS 

The  chlldt  maun  ta'e  its  luck,  it  maun, 

An'  she  maun  ta'e  her  luck, 
For  I  tell  ye  I  shonna  marry  her  — 

What  her's  got,  her  took. 

That's  spoken  like  a  man,  Timmy, 
That's  spoken  like  a  man  .  .  . 

*'  He  up  an'  fired  off  his  pistol 
An'  then  away  he  ran." 

I  damn  well  shanna  marry  'er. 

So  chew  at  it  no  more. 
Or  I'll  chuck  the  flamin'  lot  of  you  — 

—  You  nedn't  have  swore. 

VII 

That's  his  collar  round  the  candle-stick 
An'  that's  the  dark  blue  tie  I  bought  'im. 
An'  these  is  the  woman's  kids  he's  so  fond  on. 
An'  'ere  comes  the  cat  that  caught  'im. 

I  dunno  where  his  eyes  was  —  a  gret 
Round-shouldered  hag!     My  sirs,  to  think 

[68] 


AND    OTHERS 

Of  him  stoopin'  to  her !     You'd  wonder  he  could 
Throw  hisself  In  that  sink. 

I  expect  you  know  who  I  am,  Mrs.  Naylor! 

—  Who  yer  are?  —  yls,  youVe  Lizzie  Stain- 

wrIght. 
'An  'appen  you  might  guess  what  I've  come  for? 
— 'Appen  I  mightn't,  'appen  I  might. 

You  knowed  as  I  was  courtin'  Tim  Merfin. 

—  Is,  I  knowed  'e  wor  courtin'  thee. 
An'  yet  you've  been  carryin'  on  wl'  him. 

—  Ay,  an'  'Im  wI'  me. 

Well,  now  you've  got  to  pay  for  it, 

—  An'  if  I  han,  what's  that  to  thee  ? 
For  'e  Isn't  goln'  to  marry  you. 

—  Is  It  a  toss-up  'twixt  thee  an'  me  ? 

It's  no  toss-up  'twIxt  thee  an'  me. 

—  Then  what  art  colleyfoglln'  for? 
I'm  not  havin'  your  orts  an'  slarts. 

—  Which  on  us  said  you  wor? 

[69] 


LOVE    POEMS 

I  want  you  to  know  'e's  non  marryin^  you. 

—  Tha  wants  'Im  thy-sen  too  bad. 

Though  I'll  see  as  'e  pays  you,   an'  comes  to  the 
scratch. 

—  Tha'rt  for  doln'  a  lot  wi'  th'  lad. 

VIII 

To  think  I  should  ha'e  to  haffle  an'  caffle 

Wi'  a  woman,  an'  pay  'er  a  price 
For  lettin'  me  marry  the  lad  as  I  thought 

To  marry  wi'  cabs  an'  rice. 

But  we'll  go  unbeknown  to  the  registrar, 

An'  give  'er  what  money  there  is, 
For  I  won't  be  beholden  to  such  as  her 

For  anythink  of  his. 

IX 

Take  off  thy  duty  stripes,  Tim, 

An'  come  wi'  me  in  here, 
Ta'e  off  thy  p'lice-man's  helmet 

An'  look  me  clear. 

[70] 


AND    OTHERS 

I  wish  tha  hadna  done  It,  Tim, 

I  do,  an'  that  I  do ! 
For  whenever  I  look  thee  i'  th'  face,  I  s'll  see 

Her  face  too. 

I  wish  tha  could  wesh  'er  off'n  thee, 

For  I  used  to  think  that  thy 
Face  was  the  finest  thing  that  iver 

Met  my  eye.  .  .  . 

X 

Twenty  pounds  o'  thy  own  tha  hast,  and  fifty  pound 

ha'e  I, 
Thine  shall  go  to  pay  the  woman,  an'  wi'  my  bit  we'll 

buy 
All  as  we  shall  want  for  furniture  when  tha  leaves 

this  place. 
An'  we'll  be  married  at  th'  registrar  —  now  lift  thy 

face. 

Lift  thy  face  an'  look  at  me,  man,  up  an'  look  at  me : 
Sorry  I  am  for  this  business,  an'  sorry  if  I  ha'e  driven 
thee 

[71] 


LOVE    POEMS 

To  such  a  thing:  but  It's  a  poor  tale,  that  Fm  bound 

to  say, 
Before  I  can  ta'e  thee  Fve  got  a  widow  of  forty-five 

to  pay. 

Dunnat  thee  think  but  what  I  love  thee  —  I  love  thee 

well, 
But  'deed  an'  I  wish  as  this  tale  o'  thine  wor  niver 

my  tale  to  tell; 
Deed  an'  I  wish  as  I  could  stood  at  the  altar  wi'  thee 

an'  been  proud  o'  thee. 
That  I  could  ha'  been  first  woman  to  thee,  as  thou'rt 

first  man  to  me. 

But  we  maun  ma'e  the  best  on't  —  I'll  rear  thy  childt 

if  'er'll  yield  it  to  me. 
An'  then  wi'  that  twenty  pound  we  gi'e  'er  I  s'd 

think  'er  wunna  be 
So  very  much  worser  off  than  'er  wor  before  —  An' 

now  look  up 
An'  answer  me  —  for  I've  said  my  say,  an'  there's  no 

more  sorrow  to  sup. 

Yi,  tha'rt  a  man,  tha'rt  a  fine  big  man,  but  niver  a 
baby  had  eyes 

[72] 


AND    OTHERS 

As  sulky  an'  ormin'  as  thine.  Hast  owt  to  say  other- 
wise 

From  what  IVe  arranged  wi'  thee  ?  Eh  man,  what 
a  stubborn  jackass  thou  art, 

Kiss  me  then  —  there  —  ne'er  mind  if  I  scraight  —  I 
wor  fond  o'  thee,  Sweetheart. 


[73] 


LOVE    POEMS 


A  COLLIER'S  WIFE 

Somebody's  knocking  at  the  door 
Mother,  come  down  and  see. 

—  I's  think  It's  nobbut  a  beggar, 

Say  I'm  busy. 

It's  not  a  beggar,  mother, —  hark 
How  hard  he  knocks  .  .  . 

—  Eh,  tha'rt  a  mard-'arsed  kid, 

'E'U  gi'e  thee  socks ! 

Shout  an'  ax  what  'e  wants, 
I  canna  come  down. 

—  'E  says  ''  Is  it  Arthur  Holllday's?  " 

Say  '*  Yes,"  tha  clown. 

'E  says,  "  Tell  your  mother  as  'er  mester's 

Got  hurt  i'  th'  pit." 
What  —  oh  my  sirs,  'e  never  says  that. 

That's  niver  it. 

[74] 


AND    OTHERS 

Come  out  o'  the  way  an'  let  me  see, 

Eh,  there's  no  peace ! 
An'  stop  thy  scralghtin',  chlldt. 

Do  shut  thy  face. 

"  Your  mester's  'ad  an  accident, 

An'  they're  ta'ein  'im  i'  th'  ambulance 

To  Nottingham," —  Eh,  dear  o'  me 
If  'e's  not  a  man  for  mischance  I 

Wheers  he  hurt  this  time,  lad? 

—  I  dunna  know. 
They  on'y  towd  me  It  wor  bad  — 

It  would  be  so ! 

Eh,  what  a  man!  —  an'  that  cobbly  road, 
They'll  jolt  him  a'most  to  death, 

I'm  sure  he's  In  for  some  trouble 

Nigh  every  time  he  takes  breath. 

Out  o'  my  way,  chlldt  —  dear  o'  me,  wheer 

Have  I  put  his  clean  stockings  and  shirt; 

Goodness  knows  if  they'll  be  able 
To  take  off  his  pit  dirt. 
[75] 


LOVE    POEMS 

An'  what  a  moan  he'll  make  —  there  niver 

Was  such  a  man  for  a  fuss 
If  anything  ailed  him  —  at  any  rate 

/  shan't  have  him  to  nuss. 

I  do  hope  it's  not  very  bad! 

Eh,  what  a  shame  it  seems 
As  some  should  ha'e  hardly  a  smite  o'  trouble 

An'  others  has  reams. 

It's  a  shame  as  'e  should  be  knocked  about 

Like  this,  I'm  sure  it  is ! 
He's  had  twenty  accidents,  if  he's  had  one; 

Owt  bad,  an'  it's  his. 

There's  one  thing,  we'll  have  peace  for  a  bit, 
Thank  Heaven  for  a  peaceful  house ; 

An'  there's  compensation,  sin'  it's  accident, 
An'  club  money  —  I  nedn't  grouse. 

An'  a  fork  an'  a  spoon  he'll  want,  an'  what  else ; 

I  s'll  never  catch  that  train  — 
What  a  trapse  it  is  if  a  man  gets  hurt  — 

I  s'd  think  he'll  get  right  again. 

[76] 


AND    OTHERS 


THE  DRAINED  CUP 

The  snow  Is  witherin'  off'n  th'  gress 

Love,  should  I  tell  thee  summat? 
The  snow  is  witherin'  off'n  th'  gress 
An'  a  thick  mist  sucks  at  the  clots  o'  snow, 
An'  the  moon  above  In  a  weddin'  dress 
Goes  fogged  an'  slow  — 

Love,  should  I  tell  thee  summat? 

Tha's  been  snowed  up  I'  this  cottage  wi'  me, 

Nay,  I'm  tellin'  thee  summat. — 
Tha's  bin  snowed  up  i'  this  cottage  wi'  me 
While  th'  clocks  has  a'  run  down  an'  stopped 
An'  the  short  days  withering  silently 
Unbeknown  have  dropped. 

—  Yea,  but  I'm  tellin'  thee  summat. 

How  many  days  dost  think  has  gone  ?  — 

Now  I'm  tellin'  thee  summat. 
How  many  days  dost  think  has  gone? 
How  many  days  has  the  candle-light  shone 

[77] 


LOVE    POEMS 

On  us  as  tha  got  more  white  an'  wan? 
—  Seven  days,  or  none  — 

Am  I  not  tellln'  thee  summat? 

Tha  come  to  bid  farewell  to  me  — 

Tha'rt  frit  o'  summat. 
To  kiss  me  and  shed  a  tear  wi'  me, 
Then  off  and  away  wi'  the  weddin'  ring 
For  the  girl  who  was  grander,  and  better  than  me 
For  marrying  — 

Tha'rt  frit  o'  summat? 

I  durstna  kiss  thee  tha  trembles  so, 

Tha'rt  frit  o'  summat. 
Tha  arena  very  flig  to  go, 
'Appen  the  mist  from  the  thawin'  snow 
Daunts  thee  —  it  isna  for  love,  I  know, 
That  tha'rt  loath  to  go. 

—  Dear  o'  me,  say  summat. 

Maun  tha  cling  to  the  wa'  as  tha  goes. 

So  bad  as  that? 
Tha'lt  niver  get  into  thy  weddin'  clothes 
At  that  rate  —  eh,  theer  goes  thy  hat; 

[78] 


AND    OTHERS 

Ne'er  mind,  good-bye  lad,  now  I  lose 
My  joy,  God  knows, 

—  An'  worse  nor  that. 

The  road  goes  under  the  apple  tree ; 

Look,  for  Fm  showin'  thee  summat. 
An'  if  it  wom't  for  the  mist,  tha'd  see 
The  great  black  wood  on  all  sides  o'  thee 
Wi'  the  little  pads  going  cunningly 
To  ravel  thee. 

So  listen,  I'm  tellin'  thee  summat. 

When  tha  comes  to  the  beechen  avenue, 

I'm  warnin'  thee  o'  summat. 
Mind  tha  shall  keep  inwards,  a  few 
Steps  to  the  right,  for  the  gravel  pits 
Are  steep  an'  deep  wi'  watter,  an'  you 
Are  scarce  o'  your  wits. 

Remember,  I've  warned  thee  o'  summat. 

An'  mind  when  crossin'  the  planken  bridge, 

Again  I  warn  ye  o'  summat. 
Ye  slip  not  on  the  slippery  ridge 
Of  the  thawin'  snow,  or  it'll  be 

[79] 


LOVE    POEMS 

A  long  put-back  to  your  gran'  marridge, 
I'm  tellin'  ye. 

Nay,  are  ter  scared  o'  summat? 

In  kep  the  thick  black  curtains  drawn, 

Am  I  not  tellin'  thee  summat? 
Against  the  knockin'  of  sevenfold  dawn, 
An  'red-tipped  candles  from  morn  to  morn 
Have  dipped  an'  danced  upon  thy  brawn 
Till  thou  art  worn  — 

Oh,  I  have  cost  thee  summat. 

Look  in  the  mirror  an'  see  thy-sen, 

—  What,  I  am  showin'  thee  summat. 
Wasted  an'  wan  tha  sees  thy-sen. 

An'  thy  hand  that  holds  the  mirror  shakes 

Till  tha   drops  the  glass  and  tha  shoulders  when 

Thy  luck  breaks. 

Sure,  tha'rt  afraid  o'  summat. 

Frail  thou  art,  my  saucy  man, 

—  Listen,  I'm  tellin'  thee  summat. 
Tottering  and  tired  thou  art,  my  man, 

[80] 


AND    OTHERS 

Tha  came  to  say  good-bye  to  me, 

An'  tha's  done  it  so  well,  that  now  I  can 

Part  wi'  thee. 

—  Master,  Fm  givin'  thee  summat. 


[8i] 


LOVE    POEMS 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER 

I 

A  Snowy  Day  in  School 

All  the  slow  school  hours,  round  the  Irregular  hum  of 
the  class, 

Have  pressed  immeasurable  spaces  of  hoarse  silence 

Muffling  my  mind,  as  snow  muffles  the  sounds  that 
pass 

Down  the  soiled  street.  We  have  pattered  the  les- 
sons ceaselessly  — 

But  the  faces  of  the  boys,  in  the  brooding,  yellow 

light 
Have  shone  for  me  like  a  crowded  constellation  of 

stars, 
Like  full-blown  flowers  dimly  shaking  at  the  night, 
Like  floating  froth  on  an  ebbing  shore  in  the  moon. 

Out  of  each  star,  dark,  strange  beams  that  disquiet: 
In  the  open  depths  of  each  flower,  dark  restless 
drops : 

[82] 


AND    OTHERS 

Twin  bubbles,  shadow-full  of  mystery  and  challenge 

in  the  foam's  whispering  riot: 
—  How  can  I  answer  the  challenge  of  so  many  eyes ! 

The  thick  snow  Is  crumpled  on  the  roof,  it  plunges 

down 
Awfully.     Must  I  call  back  those  hundred  eyes  ?  — 

A  voice 
Wakes  from  the  hum,  faltering  about  a  noun  — 
My  question!     My  God,   I  must  break  from  this 

hoarse  silence 

That  rustles  beyond  the  stars  to  me. —  There, 

I  have  startled  a  hundred  eyes,  and  I  must  look 

Them  an  answer  back.     It  Is  more  than  I  can  bear. 

The  snow  descends  as  If  the  dull  sky  shook 

In  flakes  of  shadow  down;  and  through  the  gap 

Between  the  ruddy  schools  sweeps  one  black  rook. 

The  rough  snowball  In  the  playground  stands  huge 

and  still 
With  fair  flakes  settling  down  on  It. — Beyond,  the 

town 
Is  lost  In  the  shadowed  silence  the  skies  distil. 

[83] 


LOVE    POEMS 

And  all  things  are  possessed  by  silence,  and  they  can 

brood 
Wrapped  up  in  the  sky's  dim  space  of  hoarse  silence 
Earnestly  —  and  oh  for  me  this  class  is  a  bitter  rood. 

II 

The  Best  of  School 

The  blinds  are  drawn  because  of  the  sun, 

And  the  boys  and  the  room  in  a  colourless  gloom 

Of  under-water  float:  bright  ripples  run 

Across  the  walls  as  the  blinds  are  blown 

To  let  the  sunlight  in;  and  I, 

As  I  sit  on  the  beach  of  the  class  alone. 

Watch  the  boys  in  their  summer  blouses. 

As  they  write,  their  round  heads  busily  bowed: 

And  one  after  another  rouses 

And  lifts  his  face  and  looks  at  me. 

And  my  eyes  meet  his  very  quietly. 

Then  he  turns  again  to  his  work,  with  glee. 

With  glee  he  turns,  with  a  little  glad 
Ecstasy  of  work  he  turns  from  me, 

[84] 


AND    OTHERS 

An  ecstasy  surely  sweet  to  be  had. 

And  very  sweet  while  the  sunlight  waves 

In  the  fresh  of  the  morning,  It  is  to  be 

A  teacher  of  these  young  boys,  my  slaves 

Only  as  swallows  are  slaves  to  the  eaves 

They  build  upon,  as  mice  are  slaves 

To  the  man  who  threshes  and  sows  the  sheaves. 

Oh,  sweet  it  Is 
To  feel  the  lads'  looks  light  on  me, 
Then  back  in  a  swift,  bright  flutter  to  work, 
As  birds  who  are  stealing  turn  and  flee. 

Touch  after  touch  I  feel  on  me 

As  their  eyes  glance  at  me  for  the  grain 

Of  rigour  they  taste  delightedly. 

And  all  the  class, 
As  tendrils  reached  out  yearningly 
Slowly  rotate  till  they  touch  the  tree 
That  they  cleave  unto,  that  they  leap  along 
Up  to  their  lives  —  so  they  to  me. 

So  do  they  cleave  and  cling  to  me, 
So  I  lead  them  up,  so  do  they  twine 

[8s] 


LOVE    POEMS 

Me  up,  caress  and  clothe  with  free 
Fine  foliage  of  lives  this  life  of  mine; 
The  lowest  stem  of  this  life  of  mine, 
The  old  hard  stem  of  my  life 
That  bears  aloft  towards  rarer  skies 
My  top  of  life,  that  buds  on  high 
Amid  the  high  wind's  enterprise. 
They  all  do  clothe  my  ungrowing  life 
With  a  rich,  a  thrilled  young  clasp  of  life; 
A  clutch  of  attachment,  like  parenthood. 
Mounts  up  to  my  heart,  and  I  find  it  good. 

And  I  lift  my  head  upon  the  troubled  tangled  world, 

and  though  the  pain 
Of  living  my  life  were  doubled,  I  still  have  this  to 

comfort  and  sustain, 
I  have  such  swarming  sense  of  lives  at  the  base  of 

me,  such  sense  of  lives 
Clustering  upon  me,  reaching  up,  as  each  after  the 

other  strives 
To  follow  my  life  aloft  to  the  fine  wild  air  of  life 

and  the  storm  of  thought, 
And  though  I  scarcely  see  the  boys,  or  know  that 

they  are  there,  distraught 
[86] 


AND    OTHERS 

As  I  am  with  living  my  life  In  earnestness,  still  pro- 
gressively and  alone, 

Though  they  cling,  forgotten  the  most  part,  not  com- 
panions, scarcely  known 

To  me  —  yet  still  because  of  the  sense  of  their 
closeness  clinging  densely  to  me. 

And  slowly  fingering  up  my  stem  and  following  all 
tinily 

The  way  that  I  have  gone  and  now  am  leading,  they 
are  dear  to  me. 

They  keep  me   assured,   and  when  my  soul  feels 

lonely. 
All  mistrustful  of  thrusting  its  shoots  where  only 
I  alone  am  living,  then  It  keeps 
Me  comforted  to  feel  the  warmth  that  creeps 
Up  dimly  from  their  striving;  it  heartens  my  strife: 
And  when  my  heart  is  chill  with  loneliness. 
Then  comforts  It  the  creeping  tenderness 
Of  all  the  strays  of  life  that  climb  my  life. 


[87] 


LOVE    POEMS 

III 

Afternoon  in  School 

the  last  lesson 

When  will  the  bell  ring,  and  end  this  weariness? 
How  long  have  they  tugged  the  leash,  and  strained 

apart 
My  pack  of  unruly  hounds :  I  cannot  start 
Them  again  on  a  quarry  of  knowledge  they  hate  to 

hunt, 
I  can  haul  them  and  urge  them  no  more. 
No  more  can  I  endure  to  bear  the  brunt 
Of  the  books  that  lie  out  on  the  desks:  a  full  three 

score 
Of  several  insults  of  blotted  pages  and  scrawl 
Of  slovenly  work  that  they  have  offered  me. 
I  am  sick,  and  tired  more  than  any  thrall 
Upon  the  woodstacks  working  weariedly. 

And  shall  I  take 
The  last  dear  fuel  and  heap  it  on  my  soul 
Till  I  rouse  my  will  like  a  fire  to  consume 
Their  dross  of  indifference,  and  burn  the  scroll 

[88] 


AND    OTHERS 

Of  their  insults  in  punishment?  —  I  will  not! 
I  will  not  waste  myself  to  embers  for  them, 
Not  all  for  them  shall  the  fires  of  my  life  be  hot. 
For  myself  a  heap  of  ashes  of  weariness,  till  sleep 
Shall  have  raked  the  embers  clear:  I  will  keep 
Some  of  my  strength  for  myself,  for  if  I  should  sell 
It  all  for  them,  I  should  hate  them  — 

—  I  will  sit  and  wait  for  the  bell. 


[89] 


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/  X. 

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